


the law of falling bodies

by skeletonannie



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Indie AU, this is gonna be a ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonannie/pseuds/skeletonannie
Summary: carmilla is from a war, elle has one of her own to fight, danny and kirsch are just so lovely, and laura exists somewhere beyond them all.the indie au that leaves nobody behind. featuring accidentally becoming famous, tiny little wars and very big wars, lexa, and vine star octavia blake.





	1. act i

//

‘forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.’  
\- wislawa szymborska, ‘under one small star’

//

you don’t remember much about your home before the wars began. You were maybe six when the fighting came to your home, and only eight when your papa was killed while he was out getting you a new shirt for your school uniform. Your mama would not speak to you, so you had to ask your teacher at school the next day, still in your old ripped school shirt. You remember asking why your papa didn’t come home, because he said he would and you needed a new shirt and you also hadn’t slept very well because he didn’t rub your back and sing you that lullaby in his mother’s language, and you remember her getting very, very quiet.

Your mama answered you finally a few days later, said he wasn’t going to come home anymore; she said he had been blown into tiny pieces, and that you should stop asking because it was rude and upsetting. You just didn’t understand, but mama was very sad, so you stopped asking.

The kids at school told you what was going on. They explained to you, softly on the playground outside, that your mama’s people and your papa’s people did not get along sometimes. They explained that the loud bangs that had become commonplace in your home were bombs, and guns, and angry men, and they explained that sometimes, people that shouldn’t be are hurt by these weapons. They explained that your papa was ‘collateral damage’—a term an older boy with a scar on his cheek explained to you when you asked by simply motioning to the thick pink cord down his face. You didn’t ask again.

Your mama stopped speaking your papa’s language with you, stuck to her native tongue, so you would practise by yourself in your room at night time, whispering the lullaby into your sleeve so your mama wouldn’t hear. You didn’t want her to get sad; more than that, you didn’t want her to hit you again. She had started doing that when she caught you speaking Serbian or soft words of Hebrew, slapping you with the back of her hand, muttering apologies later when she came to tuck you in.

‘ _Zogu_ ,’ she would say, softly into your hair, ‘forgive me. I don’t mean to be so cruel; sometimes my heart just aches. Sometimes it simply hurts too much to hear. Please understand.’ So you would turn over and place your hand on her cheek, very softly.

‘It’s alright mama,’ you would whisper, ‘it’s alright. I miss him very much too.’ And she would sniffle a bit then pat your tummy, say, ‘goodnight, _zemra ime_ ,’ and turn out your light.

//

you were nine when your mama told you you were moving to the West. You thought she meant Pejë, by the Rugova mountains your papa loved, but actually she meant Canada. You asked your teacher how far away that was from Prishtinës, and she smiled sadly at you, pet your hand, said ‘not quite far enough, _xhan_.’ You didn’t know what she meant, then, but the first time you woke up screaming in your papa’s tongue in a drafty single room apartment in Vancouver while the rain beat against the windows and your mama curled up next to you, you think you figured it out.

//

your mama met Joshua six months into your forced removal from Kosovo. He was very tall, and very dark, and he laughed with his belly, and he bought your mama and you warm coats because Vancouver was always rainy and you always felt it in your bones, like a dungeon inside your skin. He had a daughter; she was four years older than you, and you thought she was glamorous. When she first heard you speak, she didn’t snicker like the kids at school at your accent—a mix of your mama and your papa, twisting harshly around the strange sounds of English. She frowned a bit, then asked you to repeat yourself, and you blushed and stuttered and forgot what you were saying, so she clicked her tongue and straightened her spine.

‘Listen and watch my mouth, kitten,’ she told you, clearing her throat. ‘Hello, my name is Mattie. It’s lovely to meet you.’

You stuttered out a ‘hi’ and curled your toes, glancing at your mama. She was giving you that sharp look, the one that preceded a slap, so you tried again. ‘Hello Mattie; I am enchanted.’

Mattie laughed, and for once you didn’t feel like it was at you, and Joshua put a warm hand on the top of your head, said, ‘you’re already charming the ladies, kiddo,’ led you into the coffee shop. He bought you a chocolate croissant and a juice, and he let you try his cookie, and Mattie—who drank coffee—taught you what the strange words your classmates said to you meant. That made you a little bit sad, but Mattie told you not to worry about it, because they are ‘insignificant little weasels that can only speak one language, and a garbage one at that.’ You felt better after that.

//

your mama still hits you, with her sad ripped palms. Sometimes it is for speaking Serbian, or praying in your baka’s language, or wearing your papa’s shirt; other times, it is for nothing at all. You think it made her feel better, to hear that sharp crack against your cheekbone, so you never say anything. It hurts, though.

//

Joshua asked your mama and you to move in when you were eleven. You were so excited; you were very tired of sharing that mattress in that tiny apartment with your mama. You were an adult now. You were in grade six. Only babies still slept with their mamas; that mean boy with the white hair told you so in the cloakroom at school.

At Joshua’s house, you got your very own room. It was big, and dark blue, and you even had a mattress that was not on the floor. It made you think of your home in Prishtinës, with your big window and your blanket your _baka_ knit. Mattie’s room was across the hall, and even though she was older and much more elegant, she left her door open so you could come in to sit on her bed and watch her do her make-up, or listen to her practise her speeches for the debate team.

Joshua’s house was on an old street in the West End. In autumn the leaves got very bright, and at the beach the waves turned from dark blue to grey. Mattie and you would go to the coffee shop on the corner of Comox and Denman, the one that Joshua had taken to you that time, and Mattie would use her allowance to buy you both chocolate croissants.

You all had dinner together on your twelfth birthday. When you went to bed, Joshua came to tuck you in. You shyly asked him if he could rub your back, but you accidentally asked in Serbian, so you had to repeat yourself when he cocked his head at you.

He smiled, large and white against his beautiful skin, said, ‘of course, _miiću_ ,’ and then wiped your cheeks when you cried, because that’s what your papa called you, and this wonderfully kind man spoke to you in the language you have to whisper. You hugged him very tight, and he kissed your head, tucked you in, kept your door open so the light from the hall spilled in.

//

Joshua legally adopts you just before you turned thirteen. He took you to the beach by your house, where you liked to feed the geese. Gently, he asked you if you would like to take his name, like your mama had, but you shook your head. He told you that was fine, that it was nice to have a bit of diversity in the family name, and smiled warmly when you nodded shyly. Mattie threw you a party, invited her cool best friends William and SJ, made you a card that said ‘To my _sestra_.’ You had held it together in front of her friends, but later that night, after everyone had left, you had hugged Mattie very hard, whispered ‘ _hvala vam_ ’ into her chest, and apologized profusely when you got snot on her vintage Chanel blouse. She laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, kitten. It adds character,’ and you hugged her again, because she was your _sestra_.

//

when you were almost fourteen, Joshua saw your mama hit you. It had gotten worse, and a lot more common, since that first time she slapped you in Prishtinës, but Joshua didn’t know. He traveled a lot for work, often spending weeks at a time in Toronto or New York for a case, so when he came home early one day in October, your mama wasn’t expecting him. So she had slapped you with her knuckles, and she had pushed you into the wall, and Joshua walked in with his fancy leather satchel as your mama was landing a very succinct punch to your mouth.

He pulled your mama away from you, told her very calmly to pack her things and find a hotel. When she argued, wiping your blood off her knuckles shakily, Joshua had gotten a very dark look on his face. You had never seen him angry before; he seemed much taller than usual, and he tucked you into his side, his large hand against your head.

‘You will pack your things,’ he said quietly, ‘and you will find a hotel for the night, and in the morning we will file the paperwork for separation. After that, I will drive you to your hotel, and you will never come near my daughter again.’

Your mama didn’t listen, and would come to your school every day when the final bell rang. She would plead with you in Albanian, and you would hug her very tightly, but every time, you would walk away.

//

Mattie threw a fit when Joshua said you were moving to Toronto. You didn’t mind; Vancouver was rainy as hell, and even now the kids weren’t very nice to you at school. You had a couple friends, and William and SJ were always kind to you, but there was nothing special keeping you there. So you packed up your room very quickly, and even though it still made your cheeks sting, you packed the picture of your mama and you, in your first month in Vancouver, posing in front of the totem poles in Stanley Park.

//

so Toronto is very large. Like, _masivan_. Prishtinës was quite small, not even 200,000 people, and Vancouver was…tiny. You could walk from your house all the way to the shipyards off Alexander in forty-five minutes kind of small. So Toronto is overwhelming, when you first get there. You live a few blocks from a beautiful park with a dog bowl, and although you move in March and it is snowy and cold, you drag Mattie there so you can pet the dogs.

Joshua wanted to send you to a private academy, but you staunchly refused. There is a high school up in the Annex that you think is beautiful; the old stone building reminded you of Kosovo, so you ask if you can go there. Mattie is in grade twelve, and has no friends here yet, so she agreed to go to the public school with you. Joshua buys you new boots for school, beautiful leather chelsea boots you had seen in a window in a shop on Queen West, and he also buys you a very warm black parka. You still have the toque your mama got you when you first moved to Vancouver, and although Joshua asks, you do not replace it.

Entering into a high school in the middle of the spring semester is an unmitigated disaster. Everyone already knows everyone, and now you’re the weird new kid again—not that you ever shook that title in Vancouver. But you think Toronto might be easier, because there are far less rich white kids at your school, and there are even people that look like Mattie and Joshua, and on your first day a tall gangly boy named Kirsch offers to walk you to your first class.

‘Hey, so where you from? You’re not from Toronto, are you?’ He is large and has soft, eager eyes, so instead of snarking at him, you answer quietly.

‘I moved here from Vancouver with my sister and Joshua, but I am from Kosovo.’ You whisper your home country, not wanting to deal with the pity you often see when you say where you are from, but when you glance up at Kirsch he’s just smiling.

‘Cool! My aunt lives in Vancouver; she’s a vet. Maybe you know her!’

You smile back, a tiny little thing, and say, ‘maybe.’ You breathe relief.

//

toronto is…yeah. Yeah. You love it; you and Mattie go for snowy walks down your tree-lined street, kicking at the drifts and drinking lattes (you are a Toronto girl now, Mattie said, so you have to be ‘ready for the grind’) from the coffee shop on Queen West Mattie won’t shut up about, R2. Joshua works a lot, but every Sunday he orders pizza and he buys a big two-litre of iced tea and you all sit on the squishy leather couch in the den and you watch Game of Thrones. Mattie loves the violence; you sit stock-still and only relax when Joshua wraps his big arm around you and kisses your head, whispers ‘don’t fret, _miiću_ ’ into your hair. You keep watching the show even though it makes your head buzz, because you like spending time with your family, and you like Arya.

Three weeks into Toronto Living, Kirsch invites you to go ice-skating at Nathan Phillips Square, just laughing in his goofy belly way when you tell him you can’t skate.

‘Come on, short stuff! You’re a Canadian now; it’s in your blood.’

You don’t correct him. You don’t tell him about the violence and the ache that is actually in your blood; you just smirk at him and say, ‘bring it on, then, beefcake.’

It’s freezing, -17, but it’s snowing in that big fluffy way, muffling the sounds of the city, so you pull on your toque and take the streetcar to the square. Kirsch is already there, and he helps you rent your skates, and then he helps you tie them when you complain about rope burn. He introduces you to his friend Danny and her brother Elliot, and Danny is startlingly tall, so you are squinting up into the snow to see her face. She laughs and bends down, pulling you into a hug. ‘Nice to meet you!’ she says, then, ‘Sorry about the hugging—we come from a big ol’ family of huggers.’ She motions to her brother, who is willowy and delicate and seemingly small, despite his tall frame.

His long blonde hair is shaggy and soft-looking, and his eyes are so green they remind you, suddenly, of the water of Lake Madhë, where your papa would take you in the summer sometimes. You feel a deep throb in your chest and your hand shakes as you hold it out to him.

He takes it softly, gently, and you have to strain to hear him over the sounds of the rink, but his voice is so lovely you find yourself staring at his lips long after he stops speaking.

‘Forgive me, I stopped listening by accident,’ you tell him with a crooked grin, and he smiles back, says, ‘I said it is wonderful to meet you, Carmilla.’ He hesitates, then he says, ‘and you have a lovely smile.’

//

you are _absolutely terrible_ at ice skating. This makes you sad in a very aching way, a homesick way, because Kirsch had said you were a Canadian now.  But you know you are still that sad girl that lost her papa in a firestorm in that lovely, sad city, and you will never belong among such softness. But Kirsch helps you up when you splay out across the ice, and his hands are very warm, and he drags you along with him, skating backward with such ease you can’t help but laugh as the biting wind hits your cheeks. And suddenly, among these gentle people with their smiles and their hugs, you don’t feel quite so much like ruins.

Elliot buys you a hot chocolate, waving you away when you pull out your money. ‘Please,’ he says, ‘I had to watch you fumble around on that ice for so long. You deserve a reprieve,’ so you let him, smirking through the steam when he hands it to you.

‘So you _were_ watching me,’ you tease, and he fumbles his wallet.

‘What? No! I mean—’ he huffs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. ‘Stop teasing me,’ he mutters, so you squeeze his mittened hand and just sip your hot chocolate quietly, watching Danny and Kirsch race around the rink for the thousandth time that day.

//

Joshua signs you up for an after-school acting class after he hears you talking about how much Elliot enjoys it. You thank him profusely, and when he chuckles and pets your head, says ‘anytime, _miiću_ ,’ you don’t even think about it when you say, ‘okay, dad. Thanks.’

Joshua gets very quiet, and then so do you, and then his eyes are wet and then so are yours. He wraps you up in his big arms, twirls you around, kisses your head. He is crying and smiling, and you are very shy but also startlingly happy. Mattie walks in, sees the hubbub, and promptly spins on a heel and leaves the room.

‘ _Hvala vam_ , Carmilla,’ he says, his usually steady deep voice quite shaky.

You don’t say anything back, but Joshua doesn’t mind.

//

Elliot is thrilled when you tell him about the acting class. Danny and Kirsch are happy too, although they are much more interested in sports than the _Theatré_ , as Mattie had proclaimed it. Danny pulls you aside at lunch break, punching you on the arm, softly, as she says, ‘Thanks, you know.’

You didn’t know, and you say as much. Danny laughs and says, ‘I mean, for being so good to Elliot. He—he gets bullied a lot, because he’s…he’s softer than the other boys. So I’m glad you have his back, too.’

You shrug, mutter, ‘It’s no problem; it’s nice to have friends,’ and Danny gets quiet.

‘I’m honoured to be yours,’ she tells you, and you don’t know what to say because that warms your chest, so you smirk at her.

‘Yeah, yeah, just stop staring at my ass and thinking about the _benefits_ and we’ll be good.’

Danny splutters and glares, grumbles, ‘Elliot was right, you are trouble,’ and walks away.

//

your first class with Elliot is, honestly, a blast. The teacher—Coraline, she insists—lets you two pair up for the workshops, and you soon learn Elliot is a dramatic diva, excellent on his feet and far less shy and insecure when he is pretending to be someone else. You find you love improv, but Coraline says you excel at dramatic reads. She tells you one day after class—after the other kids have left and it’s just you and Elliot goofing off with the props—that you have a very quiet intensity, that you change the tone of a room with your expressions, and Elliot proudly drapes an arm over your shoulder.

‘That’s my girl,’ he proclaims in his soft voice, ‘broody, dramatic, and entirely too good-looking not to be on the big screen.’

You shrug him off, slap a hand to his tummy, and he laughs as you roll your eyes.

As you’re leaving, Coraline puts a hand on your arm. ‘He’s right, you know,’ she says, glancing at Elliot.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You are…magnetic, Carmilla. Simply magnetic.’ And she sends you off with a quick tap on the butt and a cheery, ‘Later, Queens.’

//

Elliot convinces Danny, Kirsch and Mattie to join the acting troupe for a summer production of Grease. Kirsch is very energetic, but ultimately it turns out the stage is not for him. But Mattie loves the drama, and, surprisingly, Danny does too.

//

Mattie leaves for university in late August. She had been accepted to Dalhousie University in early spring, and dad was so proud he took you three on a surprise trip to Halifax to explore together. You all pile into dad’s mustang and drive Mattie to the airport, dad trying to keep it together the whole way there. Mattie is pretending to be aloof, but you see her lip shake when she waves goodbye at the security checkpoint.

You give her one more hug, pressing your forehead into her neck. ‘ _Volume vas, sestra,_ ’ you whisper into her neck. She takes a shaky breath and kisses your head.

‘I love you too, kitten,’ and then she’s walking through security. You and dad watch her go, and then dad says, ‘come on, buddy. I need some serious ice cream.’

You go to Ed’s Real Scoop in Roncesvalle, and you run into Coraline on the sidewalk.

‘Carmilla!’ she exclaims happily, opening her arms. You smile and fall into them, pulling back and gesturing to dad.

‘Coraline, this is my dad, Joshua,’ you say, nervously, because it is still so new, having a dad again. Joshua smiles so warmly every time he hears you say it, though, so you don’t feel so shy.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Karnstein,’ Coraline says, and dad takes her hand with a quick shake of his head.

‘Oh no, no, please; it’s Joshua. Joshua Belmonde.’

‘Of course. Lovely to meet you, Joshua,’ Coraline amends, before launching into a diatribe waxing poetic about your ‘magnetic energy on the stage.’ You blush and scoff, trying to shrug off the praise, but dad won’t have it.

‘I can imagine her effect; I see it every day. Her and Elliot are quite the pair,’ he says with a deep laugh. ‘Two peas in a pod, those two.’ Under their looks, you blush again.

//

Elliot comes out to you in late September, right after you start grade ten. He is very shaky all day, and finally, when you two are in your room doing homework, your shoulders pressed together tightly, you feel him take a deep breath.

‘Hey, Carm?’ and he sounds so nervous you stop writing and look at him. He won’t meet your gaze, instead chewing on his lip and staring at a tear in his sleeve.

‘Yeah?’ you prompt, nudging his shoulder. He takes another deep breath, this one rattling in his chest, and then:

‘I’m gay,’ he blurts, covering his mouth and blushing _hard_. You stare at him for a beat, pursing your lips.

‘Okay,’ you shrug, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. ‘Neat. Me too, I think,’ you add, twisting your lips and staring at his Saint Anthony pendant.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, says, ‘Your dad was right: we are quite the pair,’ and you laugh wetly.

‘No kidding,’ you say, wiping first at your cheeks and then at his.

Elliot gets very quiet again, and you headbutt him softly. ‘What?’ you ask him, pressing your forehead into his neck, and then, ‘are you okay?’ when you feel him shaking.

He shakes his head, and you feel more tears drip onto your cheek. ‘I—’ he starts, then chokes on a sob. You push yourself up rapidly, your hands fluttering around his soft, small shoulders, his drooping head.

“Elliot?’ and it comes out raspy and rushed, worried. He finally looks up, his green, green eyes sparkling and so sad.

‘I—I, um,’ he tries again, swallowing hard. ‘I also…I—I’m not—I’m not a boy,’ he tells you, so small and frightened. You are confused for a minute, before it clicks. Danny had explained sexuality, and gender, and all sorts of interesting things to you when she had told you she was bisexual.

‘Hey,’ you whisper when Elliot begins to shrink away from you. ‘Hey, come on, don’t shut me out, _zogu_. That’s okay, okay? I just—I just want you to be happy, you dorkwad.’

Elliot sniffles, their willowy arms wrapping around you tightly. ‘Okay,’ they mumble into your neck. ‘Okay.’

Dad is at work, so you both go downstairs to make hot chocolate. As the milk is warming on the stove, Elliot clears their throat, then tells you quietly, ‘I’d like to be called Elle, if that’s okay.’

You turn around and smash your body into hers, pressing your face into her chest. You can feel her heart pounding against her ribs, so you press a kiss to it, over Danny’s old soccer sweater. ‘Elle is a beautiful name,’ and she doesn’t let go of you until dad comes home, sees you two in the kitchen, and wraps his arms around the both of you.

‘What’s cookin’, kiddies?’ and only then do you remember the milk on the stove.

‘Oh no,’ and Elle laughs as you throw the pot into the sink right before the smoke alarm goes off.

//


	2. act ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of things happen. carm is trying here. elle is trying, too. and dad just wants everyone to be happy.

_//_

‘these, our bodies, possessed by light. tell me we’ll never get used to it.’  
\- _richard siken, ‘scheherazade’_

//

you want to help Elle with her dysphoria—something she had to explain to you quietly, after dad had turned off the smoke alarm and remade your hot chocolate and tucked you both into the couch in the den with the blanket your _baka_ knit you.  She told you her body doesn’t feel like _hers_ , sometimes, especially when she dresses in her ‘boy clothes’—she had said this with distaste, her nose crinkling at the thought of her loose tank tops and dropped crotch pants.  You told her she has always been beautiful, no matter what she wears, and she blushed prettily before nudging your thigh and telling you to ‘shut up, you angelic bitch.’

So you and Elle raid your closet the next morning, after you wake her up with a tickle attack.  Dad had said it was okay for Elliot to stay the night, as long as it was fine with his parents.  She had flinched at the pronouns and the name, but you knew she wasn’t ready, so you just said ‘thanks, dad.’

When you attack her, she squeals grumpily and tries to roll away.  You straddle her quickly, and she laughs and laughs until her hands hit your upper thighs, and then she stops.  You don’t mean to, but you hold your breath, and you both blush bright pink as you slowly roll off of her and onto the floor.

‘Well.’  You scuffle your feet before shrugging.  ‘Let’s get to it, beauty queen,’ you smirk at her, and Elle smiles, a tiny little thing, as she pushes herself out of bed.

‘I don’t know how well this will go,’ she mutters, resting her chin on the top of your head.  ‘You’re literally the tiniest little Eastern European waif I’ve ever seen, my dude.’

‘Tiny? Fuck off, Elle.  I can still kick your diva ass.’

She looks at you incredulously, then just picks you up and slings you over her shoulder.  You shout and laugh and bang your hands on her back, but she just twirls you into your closet before dropping you onto your laundry pile.  ‘You were saying?’ she smirks at you, and you have only ever seen her this free and open on the stage.  So you don’t say anything, just roll your eyes and stand to find some clothes.

//

elle was right: the closet didn’t go well.  You are like maybe five-foot-three, and Elle is at least five-eleven, so your dresses looked like t-shirts, and your shirts looked like crop tops, and Elle looked very dejected.

‘Hey, _zogu_ , no worries, we’ll just—’ and you scramble up and shout down the stairs.  ‘Dad!! I need to go shopping!’

Dad shouts back, ‘oh yeah? On whose dime, _miiću?’_ and Elle laughs around a frown.

You tell Elle to wait there, then turn on your heel and stalk downstairs.  Dad is in the kitchen drinking his coffee—black, no sugar, no fun—and doing the crossword.  At your stomping, her looks up slowly, clearly trying not to grin.

‘What’s up, buttercup?’ he sings at you, pushing the crossword aside and resting his chin in his hand.  You roll your eyes, square your shoulders, and ready yourself for a rant, before: ‘So Elliot needs some clothes, huh?’

‘What—how did you—were you _spying_ on me, dad?’  Your stomach swoops, because you know Elle isn’t ready for people to know, and what if she thinks _you_ told him, and—

‘No, bud, no.  I promise.’  He crosses his heart, then says, ‘I just figured—I mean, he was very upset last night, and you guys were very quiet at your sleepover, and I heard you barrelling around in your closet—you’re very heavy-footed, darling—and I just—I know he isn’t…comfortable with himself yet.  Fifteen is a weird age, kid.  I remember.  And sexuality and crushes and—you know, all that—all that stuff.’  He looks into his mug, then slaps the table.  ‘So, if something a little more…feminine would make Elliot more comfortable in his skin, why not?’  At your slow nod, he continues, ‘and _miiću,_ you’re like, pocket-sized.  Your clothes would never fit him.’

You ignore the fact that you’re nearly fifteen and crawl into his lap like you did when it would thunder and your mama told you to grow up.  You press your forehead to his cheek, say, ‘ _hvala vam,_ papa,’ and he just wraps his big arms around you, kisses your head, stays quiet.

//

elle is sweaty-palms nervous at the mall, her eyes jumping around and her hands jittery at her sides.  You wrap your arms around her tummy and press your nose into the space between her shoulder blades, whisper, ‘relax, queenie,’ so she does, a little bit.  Dad drags you into Hollister, but at Elle’s look just drops his shoulders.

‘Fine.  I’m old. Give me a break,’ before, ‘lead the way, Elliot.’

Another tiny flinch but then Elle is leading you all into H&M, determinedly strutting toward the ladies section.  You frown at the sign, and you know Danny would say something like, ‘it’s ridiculous to gender clothes. This binary society is so stifling,’ and that makes you smile and nudge Elle’s hand with yours.  She glances down at you with a shaky smile, ruffles your hair.

Dad is sent off by Elle to find long t-shirts in the men’s section—‘something long enough to cover me properly, but like—I don’t know, Joshua, use your imagination!’—and you and Elle are scanning the blouses and skirts, Elle chewing her lip nervously.  A sales person bounds over, big ass smile on their face, and Elle stiffens.

‘Heya! Y’all finding everything okay?’  and they look so eager and genuine that you feel Elle relax beside you.  

‘I’m actually—I’m looking for something for myself,’ Elle admits bravely.  The sales person smiles gently, nodding and scanning the racks in front of you.

‘Cool.  So you’re pretty tall, hey?’ Elle shrugs, but they aren’t deterred.  ‘Dope. So we got some rad summer dresses left over from August somewhere around here,’ and they lead you to a sale rack at the back.  Deftly they pick out a deep burgundy dress, thick strapped and loose around the hips, and you see a slow smile spread across Elle’s face.

‘I like that,’ she admits shyly, and the sales person grins.

‘Sweet!  There’s this like, sweater thing over there that I think would go well over top?’

Elle nods, and off you go, and suddenly you’re laden down with a comical amount of lovely loose dresses, t-shirts, and sweaters that are flowy and long and perfect for Elle’s willowy frame.

Dad meets you in the change rooms with a single white t-shirt, a tie, and a pair of heeled black boots.  Elle rolls her eyes and dad’s shoulders slump.  ‘I tried, dude!’  

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Elle smirks, taking the clothes with a patronizing hand pat.

//

you don’t expect your mouth to go dry when Elle walks out of the change room, but it does.  The sales person—LaFontaine, they had told you with a wink—outright _laughed_ at you, and you sent them a glare and crossed your arms.  Dad ruffled your hair before telling Elle to twirl.

She looks radiant, and so happy, and LaFontaine was right: that burgundy dress looks wonderful underneath that long black sweater, and surprisingly, Elle had _loved_ the boots dad picked out.  She looked—yeah.  You cleared your throat and threw a long mottled grey peacoat at her.

‘Throw this on, asshole,’ you snark.  Elle winks at you and twirls back into the change room.

//

‘oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my go—’

‘Stop!  Just—oh my god just stop,’ you plead, and Elle stops, spins on her heel, tucks her lip into her mouth.

‘I _can’t_ , dude!’ she says anxiously.  ‘I’m nervous and sweating and I think I’m having a heart attack.’

You hop off your bed and grab her waist, stopping her mid-pace.  You reach up and cup her neck in your hands, feeling her pulse hammer under your palms.  ‘Elle.  Relax,’ and as she opens her mouth to protest you knock her shin with your booted toe. ’Stop. Come on, _zogu_ ; this is your family.  This is _your_ family.  You know, with the mom that insists on shovelling enchiladas down my throat and smothering me in hugs?  You know?  The one with the dad that keeps trying to teach me poker and build a fence?  The one with the disgustingly open and feminist and die-hard sister?  You have _family game night,_ buddy.’  Elle drops her head, her forehead pressing into your crown.

‘I know,’ and it’s muffled into your hair, ‘but I’m still nervous.’  She breathes shakily, so you move your hands into her hair and scratch at her scalp.

‘ _Volume vas,_ my dude,’ you tell her, and she laughs wetly.

‘I get it, you can speak like a million languages, whatever.’  Stepping away from you, Elle wipes at her eyes, smudging her mascara.

‘Dude!’ and you reach for a tissue.  ‘Don’t mess up my hard work,’ you grumble.  

She scoffs, says, ‘ _my_ hard work, you bitch,’ sniffles again.  You finish fixing her make up, letting your hand rest on her cheek for a moment.

‘You’ll be fine, Elle.  I’ll be right there, okay?’

She kisses your forehead.  ‘Okay,’ and then, ‘okay, honestly, what does _volume vas_ mean?’

You smirk at her, shake your head, keep quiet.

//

danny is _thrilled_.  ‘As long as you’re happy, I’m happy!’ she shouts, wrapping Elle up in a massive hug, a big tangle of gangly limbs and tears.  Elle’s mom and dad are quiet, and her mom is crying, but when Elle looks over, she breaks into a shaky smile.

‘I love you, _mija._ I just want to see you happy, and healthy, and safe,’ and she opens her arms for a hug.  Elle lets out a strangled sob and falls into her mom’s lap, crying into her soft cotton sweater as her dad pats her head and whispers quiet assurances into her ear.  

You feel a little awkward just standing in their living room, but then Danny comes over and slings her arm around your shoulders.  ’So when’s the wedding, huh?’ she grins at you.  

You balk and slap her tummy, stuttering out a ‘what? No. What?’ before grumbling in Albanian when Danny just laughs and pats your cheek.  On the couch, curled up on her mom’s lap, Elle smiles at you.

Gently, with a racing heart, you smile back.

//

mattie comes home for the winter holidays in mid-December.  You and dad pick her up at the airport in the middle of a goddamn blizzard, and she comes barrelling into the car with her scarf flapping behind her, screaming.

‘Let me _in,_ Carmilla!’ she’s still screaming, banging on the window, and you and dad are laughing, and you’re happy.

//

elle comes over to light the menorah with you.  She valiantly attempts to follow along in Hebrew as you recite the prayers, but honestly, she’s awful, so you just laugh into her shoulder and let her light the first candle.  Mattie comes waltzing in as you’re all sitting in the den eating latkes off of the nice china, and you freeze at her ungodly gasp.

‘Elle _, honey!’_ she wails, fluttering into the den in a whirl of black silk.  ‘Absolutely _not!’_ and suddenly she’s tugging Elle up off the couch and shepherding her upstairs, muttering the whole way about contouring and eyebrow pencils.

You and dad just shrug, turn on the tv, watch as the fire sparks down to embers.

The clearing of a throat wakes you from your almost-sleep.  You startle up, ignore dad laughing at you, look to the archway leading into the den.  

Mattie is standing there looking _immensely_ pleased with herself, and when she sees you both are paying attention, she announces proudly, ‘I present to you all, Elle Diabla.’

You and dad laugh loudly at the nickname, and Mattie shoots you a wink before ushering Elle into the den, and then suddenly you’re not laughing anymore.

She looks ethereal, all soft edges and strong lines; her eyes are bright and so, so green, and you can’t stop staring at her mouth.  You think she notices, because she smirks, a gentle twitch of her lips, before strutting into the den and striking a pose.

Your dad claps, giving a standing ovation, and Elle curtsies as Mattie looks on proudly.  Struggling to breathe normally, you get up shakily and stand in front of her, slightly awed.

 _‘Izgledaš kao san,’_ you whisper, and Elle cocks her head.

‘You know, I never know what you’re saying to me when you speak in secret,’ she reminds you, chuckling softly.  You ignore her, instead reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

‘You’ll figure it out,’ you say quietly.  She doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

//

elle kisses you as the snow falls in your front yard, soft and holy, on the first day of 2008.  She tastes like hot chocolate and falling leaves, and she presses you into the snow, effectively ruining the angel you had been carving out with your body.  You don’t mind, instead breathing softly into her mouth, tracing her cheek with your gloved fingers, laughing as her goofy knit mittens try to curl into your hair.  

Your dad gives you a high five when you both stumble into the house, shivering and dripping wet.  You roll your eyes but slap his hand anyway, Elle laughing beside you with snow in her eyelashes and kiss-swollen lips.

Later, lying on the floor in the den, Elle reaches out, tangles her fingers in yours.  ‘I figured it out, you know,’ she whispers to you, the firelight casting shadows across her cheeks.

You smile softly, push up onto your elbow, kiss her gently as the fire crackles. You don’t talk anymore.

//

people at school don’t really seem to give a fuck about Elliott becoming Elle—becoming _herself—_ and if they do, they have the entire varsity football, rugby, and basketball teams to answer to.  Kirsch had been quite confused at the change, and had a few questions that Elle had taken in stride.

‘Okay, like, I don’t care, man, I just want you to be happy, but—’ his puppy eyes crinkled under his strong brow as he floundered for the right words. ‘I just—man, I don’t wanna offend you or anything because I know I can be, like, slow or whatever, so just—’

Elle sat patiently beside him on the bleachers, and you sat beside her with a firm glare ready.  Kirsch looked up at Danny and she nodded encouragingly.  ’So. The Facts: your name is Elle, you like to be called lady words, and…’ his lips pursed, ‘you’re gay?’

Elle nodded, placing a hand on your thigh when you tensed.  ‘Yep, that about covers it!’ She chirped with a grin.  ‘I’m a girl, Kirsch.’  He still looked lost, so she continued, ‘it’s like—okay so for football, you know when you have to wear that jockstrap to protect your junk?’  Kirsch nods emphatically, cupping his crotch.  ‘Okay, so.  What if—hear me out—what if you were given this like, weird ill-fitting scratchy one that pinched your balls every time you moved or whatever.  That would suck, right?’

‘Oh, bro, no _thank_ you!’

‘Exactly!  So, like—that’s what my body feels like, to me, sometimes.  It doesn’t fit.’  Elle glanced down, picked at the long black sweater LaFontaine had picked out for her.  ‘When I am called Elliot, or a boy, it feels like it doesn’t fit me, and it’s uncomfortable, and it makes me sad and I feel weird, because it isn’t the right _body_ for me.’  Softly, you traced her knuckles.  She tapped her finger on your palm, continued, ‘I’m still _me,_ but I finally got the right fitting junk protector.’

Kirsch’s face lit up dramatically, a slow smile spreading across his lips.  ‘ _Dude!_ Right on! I totally understand now!’  He reached out an open palm, and Elle let go of your hand to lace her fingers with his.  ‘I love you, man.  You’ll always be my bro.  I’m just glad your jockstrap fits now.’

Danny rolled her eyes, pet his head kindly.  ‘Knew you could do it, Kirsch,’ she cooed, and he didn’t look at all offended by that, instead just raising his free hand for a high-five.

You got Elle a squirt bottle that had ‘ _she/her dicknugget!’_ written in sharpie on it, and she laughed and laughed.  ‘For Kirsch,’ you said, and Kirsch had looked very thankful.

‘You guys know I learn a lot better when I get shown things,’ he shrugged.  

Danny punched his shoulder, muttered, ‘You’re a great dude,’ and he blushed before challenging her to a pizza-roll eating competition.

Danny won.

//

you are halfway done spring semester when Elle knocks on your door with dried tear stains on her cheeks.  It’s still snowing, and windy, and Elle hadn’t grabbed a jacket before she left her house.  Her hands are frozen and her eyelashes are peaked with ice.

‘Oh my god, _neshama_ , what the fuck?’ you tug her inside, your hands fluttering over her red cheeks, her shaking shoulders.  Dad is in the den watching Sunday football, and he slips on the hardwood as he comes barrelling out at your shout of ‘ _papa!’_

‘Oh, Elle, honey!’ he rushes her into a hug, pressing her freezing nose into his neck.  His warm hands card through her hair, and you drape your _baka’s_ blanket over her shoulders.  Elle is absolutely _shaking_ , but she won’t move, or tell you what’s wrong, so your dad says, ‘if you aren’t okay with me lifting you please say so right now,’ before heaving her up into his arms and carrying her into the den.

Elle sinks into the leather couch and dad busies himself with making a fire as you crawl on top of her and spread your body over hers.  ‘ _Zogu,’_ you whisper to her, running your hand up her side, ‘ _neshama,_ what happened?’

She takes a shaky breath, allowing dad to lift her feet and place them on his lap.  ‘I—I can’t—’ but she chokes on another sob, so you just kiss her jaw, trace her nose.

Dad makes you hot chocolate, and he even leaves two shots of his nice bourbon on the coffee table next to it—‘just in case,’ he said, before leaving to pick up thai food for you three.  Elle sips her hot chocolate, pouring her shot in, and doesn’t say much until dad gets back.

‘I, um,’ she starts.  You press your nose into her neck and she wraps her arm around your shoulders.  ‘I can’t—my family can’t afford to—to,’ she gestures to her body, ‘to remodel this.’

You squeeze her hand, kiss her ear, whisper, ‘I’m so sorry, Elle’, but you know it isn’t enough.  Elle does, too, but she doesn’t say anything.

//

you, Elle, and Danny still go to Coraline’s acting class, and it’s still _amazing_.  But Elle has been very down lately; you and Danny thought that getting to work on _Sex and the City_ monologues would have lifted her spirits, but it didn’t.  You don’t know what to do.  This feeling of helplessness is unwelcome.  

Elle doesn’t like it when you try to touch her.  She was okay with it before—not entirely comfortable, but she was okay with it, and she enjoyed it when you did—and she was _really_ okay with touching you, but now?  Now she shies away when you try to palm her through her lovely dresses, or will lift you up and off of her when you straddle her lap.  You’re not _mad_ : of course not.  You’re just—you’re very downtrodden.  You want to help her feel okay, physically, any way you can.  And, as a fifteen year old, fumbling orgasms seem pretty awesome.  But Elle doesn’t want you to touch her anymore.  And you have _no idea_ what to do.

//

mattie answers the Skype call with a bitchy, ‘ _what_ , kitten,’ that has you snarking back before you can stop yourself.

‘ _Ući u kurcu,_ Mattie,’ and she looks absolutely _shocked._

‘I beg your fucking pardon, Carmilla?’ she whispers, a slow grin spreading across her face.

You must look very confused, because she rolls her eyes and says, ‘Do you really think, after all this time, I _don’t_ speak your language, kitten?’  She shakes her head.  ‘Honestly, you’re my _sestra,_ Carmilla. How dare you think so little of me.’

This is not how you expected this call to go, because—yeah, you wanted to cry before, but that was for a whole different reason.  Now you want to cry because—fuck, Mattie learned a _whole language_ for you and you didn’t even know.

‘I love you, Mattie,’ you sniffle.  She touches her screen softly.

‘Back atcha, darling,’ before she claps her hands and says, ‘so what’s gotten you so worked up you felt the need to tell me to _go inside the dick.’_

You can’t help but laugh, and then Mattie does too, and then you’re laughing until your ribs are pulling with sobs.

‘Elle can’t—Elle won’t let me touch her and I don’t—I’m not _mad,_ I just—I don’t know what to do, because she’s so _sad,_ and she’s my girlfriend, and I can’t fix it.’

Mattie stays quiet, lets you finish wiping your eyes.  ‘Kitten,’ she says softly, ‘Elle—she has a hard road ahead of her.  There are going to be days where she won’t want anyone even _looking_ at her.’  You nod, because you _know_ this, it’s just—it’s so hard.  ‘All you can do is remind her, every day, that you are there for her and that you love her and that everything about who she is—even the parts that make her sad and angry—are parts that you absolutely adore, okay?  Because they make her who she is, for now, and who she is is someone that you love immensely.’

You end the call feeling a little better, but it still doesn’t help Elle.  She needs the therapy, and the surgery, and all you have to give is a crooked love that got blown up a million miles away, that still aches with rips and torn edges.

You’re not sure it’s enough.

//

april comes slowly, the gentle haunt of spring filling your lungs day by day.  Kirsch invites you to his rugby game that Friday like he always does, even though you, Elle, and Danny go to every home game—except this one, apparently, because Elle shakes her head.  At your questioning look, she just sighs and kisses your cheek.

‘It’s no big deal, Carm.  Maybe I don’t want to watch a bunch of sweaty boys throw themselves into the mud after some goofy oblong ball,’ and then she’s strutting away down the hall, her long blonde hair swaying behind her.  Kirsch and Danny both look at you with worried faces, so you huff and chase after her.

‘Elle!’ but she’s not slowing down, and you _really_ aren’t an athlete, and her legs are like a thousand times longer than yours.  You have to jump down a stair or five, and she finally stops when she hears you bail and crash into the wall at the bottom of the stairwell.

‘Honestly, Carmilla, you’re so fucking dramatic,’ she snarks, rolling her eyes.  She doesn’t help you up.

‘I just—’ you have to lean against the wall because your ankle _hurts_ ‘—where are you going?  Why aren’t you coming to Kirsch’s game?  We always go.’

She gives you a look, says, ‘maybe it’s time for a change or two,’ and shakes her head before muttering a ‘see you later’ and walking away again.  She doesn’t look back.  You don’t follow.

//

it’s been a week.  You and Danny had gone to Kirsch’s game, and when you had asked Danny what Elle was doing, she gave you a soft, sad look.

‘Fuck if I know, dude.’

Your tummy felt really bad, and even seeing Kirsch score the winning try didn’t loosen the knot.  So after the game you had gone with Danny back to her house, and you asked their mom where Elle was.

‘She’s out with a friend, _mija_ , didn’t she tell you?’

She _hadn’t_ told you.  And then she hadn’t mentioned it when you saw her the next day, or on Sunday without dad—he’s been in a _lot_ of meetings lately—but with the pizza, and then the rest of the week.  It all remained very unmentioned.

You’re _not mad._ You’re very hurt, frankly, and you also feel like absolute trash because—why on earth would your girlfriend lie to you?  Why would she bail on your rugby tradition, go out _‘with friends’_ , then completely pretend there wasn’t like, a huge vibrating angry chasm between you two?  You have no idea what to do, yet again, and then dad has to bail _again_ because he is ‘stuck in a meeting,’ and you’re feeling very, very unwanted.

So you call her.  You aren’t expecting her to answer, so you have a fudgesicle in your mouth when suddenly you hear a soft, ‘hey baby,’ in your ear.

Choking on fudge, you garble out an, ‘oh, hey!’ quickly, spitting the popsicle into the sink and wiping your mouth.  When she doesn’t say anything back, you clear your throat and say, ‘I miss you.’

You hear nothing at all for a minute, and then you hear a choked sob, and then you are grabbing your coat and shoving your feet into your boots as you reach for your wallet and race out the door with a worried ‘I’ll be right there’ thrown down the line.

//

her mom lets you in, patting your cheek with a warm hand before ushering you down the hall to Elle’s room.  With a wink, she closes the door, and you blush as you turn around.  Elle’s laying on top of her covers in her underwear and an ill-fitting bra—all wires and tight straps, a little bow in between the cups—and she is very still.

‘Elle?’  She doesn’t answer, so you slip out of your parka and your sweater and your t-shirt and your tight pants and you crawl onto the bed.  The mattress dips as you settle beside her, bare except for your underwear.  She shudders, then rolls messily into you, her tears making your chest wet.  

You wrap your little arms around her, kiss her head and her shoulders and her cheeks, trace the knolls of her spine as she shakes.

 _‘ani ohevet otach,’_ you whisper, and you feel her ribs pull heavy with sobs.  You don’t say anything else after that.

//

dad calls you after school at the end of April; mild and sunny, still cold enough to see your breath.  Elle is holding your hand and smiling down at you as Danny races Kirsch down the stairs to the courtyard.  He hardly gives you a chance to say hi before he’s talking very quickly.

‘I don’t care what you have to do to do it: tell them I’m buying them all dinner, I don’t care.  Just get Elle and her family to our house by six, okay?’  He sounds stressed but also pleased, so instead of questioning it you just say ‘okay, dad,’ and hang up.

‘Hey, guys?’ you call after Danny and Kirsch.  ‘You’re coming for dinner tonight, my dad says.’  They whoop and holler out the doors and you turn to Elle.  ‘Bring Karla and Santi, my dad says, okay?’

Elle looks confused, but she sees that you are too, so she doesn’t ask.  She kisses you, presses her forehead to yours, says, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ in that smooth voice that always makes you want to kiss her breathless.  Your eyes must glaze a bit, because she laughs hotly in your ear as she tugs on it before whispering, ‘maybe if we hurry we can beat them there?’

You jump the remaining three steps, pushing Kirsch into the fence and tripping Danny as you pull Elle toward the streetcar.

//

you _do_ beat them there, and for the first time in five weeks, Elle lets you touch her.  You’re worried you forgot how, but clearly you hadn’t, because Elle falls apart above you _very_ quickly.  She blushes and hides her face in your neck, allowing you a moment to gloat before kissing her way down your body, _very_ effectively wiping the proud smirk off your face.  Afterward, with her head still resting on your lower tummy, you feel tears spill out the corners of your eyes.  You don’t tell Elle, but then you hear her sniffle, and then she—

‘Oh my _god,_ Elle!’ you shout, pushing her head off your tummy and wiping your skin with your discarded underwear.  She looks startled, then very tense, and her eyes are red-rimmed and lovely, and you feel your chest clench.  

‘What?’ she whispers, rapidly and discretely trying to cover herself with shaky hands.

Slowly, you reach for her hands, uncover her, kiss her chest and her shoulders and her ribs.  She relaxes into you, her breathing getting shallow as you kiss down her tummy, and then she squeals when you blow a raspberry below her belly button.

‘You wiped _snot_ on my _tummy_ ,’ you laugh into her skin, and she looks horribly embarrassed.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she whispers meekly.  ‘It just—it came out.  I leaked.  I’m sorry.’

You blow another raspberry, this time into her neck.  ‘My girlfriend is a nasty snot rag.’

‘I’m—excuse me?’

‘I said—ahem: my girlfriend. is a nasty. snot rag.’

‘I just gave you the best orgasm of your _life_ and you call me a snot rag?’

‘What kind of scale are you using, _zogu?_ Because I can think of like, three greater ones I’ve had and that’s just since last week.’  She looks horribly affronted at that, so you laugh and pull her onto you, kissing her quiet.  ‘I’m joking, _neshama_.’

‘Whatever, hunty’ she mutters into your mouth, pressing you back into the mattress.

//

you forget that everyone is coming over.  

Danny and Kirsch bound into your room thirty minutes later, cheeks rosy.  Elle squeaks and pulls the covers up, and suddenly you’re in complete darkness at Elle’s hips as you hear her having a conversation with Danny and Kirsch.  You think you are dying.

Danny clues in _way_ faster than Kirsch, and you can hear her fall to the floor she’s laughing so hard.  Kirsch legitimately sits down next to Elle on the bed before he realizes, and when you pop up from under the covers with a huff and a slap to Elle’s chest, his eyes go very wide and he blushes bright red.

‘Oh, _dudes_ ,’ he covers his eyes immediately, trying to walk backward out the room.  ‘Hot damn I am so sorry, this is so un-bro, oh _man_.’

Danny is still laughing too hard to help any, so you just settle in under the covers with Elle and try to stop blushing before dad gets home.

//

you haven’t stopped blushing.

Danny is still laughing, her cheeks wet with tears, and Kirsch won’t look either of you in the eye he feels so guilty.  So you are all sitting in the den, and no one is looking at each other, and Elle has chugged nearly a litre of water to avoid having to say anything.

Dad comes in with Elle’s parents, smiling and pulling his leather gloves off smoothly as he ushers them in.  He never told you what this was about but you’re glad he’s here because you ordered about seventy dollars worth of pizza and there’s no way you can pay for that without him.

You tell him so, and he just sighs and rolls his eyes, handing you his wallet. ‘I should’ve known,’ he mumbles, kissing your head.  

The pizza comes soon after, and dad lets everyone have a slice before putting down his plate and clearing his throat.  

‘So, I understand that there have been some—some issues, regarding Elle’s transition,’ he starts, looking to Elle with a small smile.  

Karla puts her plate down as well, patting down her skirt with nervous hands. ‘Yes, Joshua, we—well, it’s all—we don’t—’ but Elle cuts her off softly.

‘It’s okay, mom.  It is.  I get it.’  Her shoulders slump.  ‘You can’t pay for university for both of us _and_ for me to transition.  I can wait,’ but she sounds so _sad_ at the thought you wrap your arm around her waist.

‘ _Mija,_ I wish there was more we could do—’ Santi starts, before biting his lip and reaching for his wife’s hand.  They both look so upset, and dad has been watching this all with that calculating gaze he gets that lets you know he’s up to something.

‘Dad?’ you prompt, giving him a sharp look, because he’s just made this the most depressing pizza party ever.

He smiles at you, slow and wide, before saying, ‘I think I have a solution.’

Elle doesn’t mean to be, you know, but suddenly she is hopeful.  You give your dad a hard glare, which he ignores before taking another bite of pizza.

‘I’ve been talking,’ he begins, ‘to my friend.  She’s a doctor, all that fancy stuff, and I told her about you, Elle.  And she just thinks you’re wonderful.’  He winks at Elle, before, ’She’s agreed to take on your case, and her and I have worked out a payment plan that works for _me_.’  Karla and Santi both start talking rapidly, Santi in Spanish, and it becomes a very loud wormhole of information.

Kirsch puts his fingers between his lips and whistles, effectively stopping the rabble, and says, ‘Everyone chill.  One at a time.’

Karla looks shocked, turning slowly to look at dad, her pizza on the floor.  ‘What?’

‘What do you mean, _‘for you?_ ’’ Santi asks.

Dad smiles again.  ‘I mean, Santi, that you don’t need to worry about trying to pay for two brilliant kids’ educations _and_ this.  That’s way too much for one family to take on.  So—as a gift, _please_ —I would like to…to invest in this.  Because I know Elle will grow and go on to do such wonderful things.  And I know she has already done so many wonderful things for my daughter.  I would like to return the favour.’

Karla is crying, and so is Kirsch, and then Elle is flinging herself into dad’s lap, sending his pizza flying, and then there is everything all at once. And you remember, suddenly, your _baka’s_ house, with all your cousins and aunts and uncles and that unmistakable feeling of warmth that comes from the unbearable lightness of being among so many others that loved you just as you loved them.

//

elle starts hormone therapy at the beginning of May, giddy and sweet with excitement.  You pick her flowers, daisies and crocuses, and she kisses you holy when you hand her the thieved bouquet.

‘I’ve never been so happy,’ she whispers into your mouth, the petals brushing your collarbone.  She’s never looked so free; you kiss her again, press her into the wall of the entryway.  Santi clears his throat gruffly, pointedly wiping his glasses on his t-shirt when you break away to look at him.

‘Please, girls, I am old,’ he says, putting his glasses back on.  ‘Keep it PG-Santi.’

//

for your end of school production, Coraline puts on Rocky Horror Picture Show.  Elle has been getting _incredibly_ good with make up, and Coraline asks her if she would like to be head of make up and costuming for the production.  Elle nods so hard you think she is seizing, and then she is twirling you around, kissing your cheeks.

‘Hear that, Carm?’ she asks you, silly and young.

‘I did,’ you whisper.  ‘I heard it.’  She laughs, soft and happy, and petals bloom in your chest.

//

mattie comes back from Halifax in early June.  She had gone to Miami and then New York with a few school friends to ‘celebrate’ the end of exams, which you and dad both know to mean ‘get wildly drunk,’ so you decide to tease her with a few airhorns.  She shouts at you and locks herself in her room, but later that evening she comes downstairs and grudgingly laughs with you both.

A few days later, Mattie asks you if you would be interested in partaking in a little acting project.  You had just finished Rocky Horror the day before, and were eager to try something new.  

‘Of course,’ you say, shovelling chips into your mouth.  ‘What is it?’

Mattie looks at you distastefully, wiping crumbs from your chest before saying, ‘A girl I was in school with, Lola, is hoping to become a screenwriter.  She has penned this strange liberal arts feminist adaptation of _Hamlet_ , but instead of being, you know, _Hamlet_ , it is an entire retelling about Ophelia.  And instead of drowning, Ophelia is saved by a water nymph.  It becomes a little strange there: adventures, mild homoerotic overtones, but all in all it looks quite entertaining.’

You’re _enthralled_. ‘Abso—absolutely!’  Then, ‘hey, can Elle do it too?  She’s really good at make up and stuff.’

Mattie looks immensely pleased to hear that. ‘Of course.  And, do you have any friends available to play the water nymph?’

You picture Danny, six foot three and lanky, and grin wickedly.

//

filming doesn’t take very long, but movies are _hard_. With theatre, if you mess it up, it’s too late and you just have to live with it, but film?  You can re-do things one million times, and it is _exhausting_.  Also, you have to kiss Danny.

Lola Perry is a neurotic but incredibly kind and smart woman with fiery red curls and hugs that remind you of your papa.  She is very open to constructive criticism, and loves your and Danny’s chemistry, so even though filming can be tiring, it’s _fun._ You get to recreate a character you had read over and over that year in English class, and it’s thrilling.  You get so into the role that sometimes Elle has to play a game to snap you out of it: it’s called Real or Fake, and she says things about Carmilla Karnstein that you have to answer with Real or Fake.  Sometimes it takes you longer than it should to remember the answers, but you don’t let that bother you.

Elle’s friend—the one that she had been hanging out with on the sly, that week you didn’t see each other—becomes infatuated immediately with Lola when they come to visit Elle on set.

‘Just introduce me, dude!’ LaFontaine pleads, and you smirk and raise an eyebrow.

‘Introduce yourself, Romeo.’

Elle swats your butt, mutters, ‘be nice,’ into your ear, so you roll your eyes and wave Lola over.

‘Lola, this is Elle’s friend LaFontaine—’ you ignore their huff of _I’m your friend too, asshole_ — ‘LaFontaine, this is Lola Perry,’ and you leave it at that, going to find Danny to practise lines.

//

none of you are really sure what to do once you finish—you had all spent the past three weeks absolutely immersed, and existing outside the story seems strange.  So dad throws you all a wrap party at your house.  You and Elle steal a bottle of wine two hours in, when everyone is sufficiently drunk or distracted, and climb the fire escape to the roof.  Mattie watches you go with a conspiring grin, twirling back in to commandeer the party.

‘Hey, what’s that one?’ Elle asks from beside you, hair splayed out against the blanket and a delicate hand pointing to ursa major.

You ignore her question this time, instead rolling onto her and pressing heady kisses to her neck.  ’Only stars you’ll be seeing are the ones I make you see,’ you tell her with a grin.  She laughs and kisses you back, settles you against her, cups your chest in her gentle palms.  Your breath stutters and you feel so much, all at once.  Her hands are gentle but strong against you, dragging her nails up your back, tugging your dress up with them.  Her mouth is warm and you bite her lip just to hear her moan.

And then, after she tugs your dress over your head, very quietly you ask her, ‘can I?’

She looks at you, confused, before you take a deep breath and pull your panties down, tug hers away, settle yourself bare over her hips, and then she lets out a long breath.  ‘Oh my god,’ she whispers, shutting her eyes tight.  You feel her against you and you try very hard not to move, but it is difficult, especially with the moonlight and the city haze.  Then she is nodding rapidly, reaching for her purse next to her head.  Her long fingers fumble with the foil and you laugh, grab her wrists.

‘Relax, _zogu_ ,’ you tell her.  You help her roll the condom on, and you kiss her shaking fingers, her palms, her wrists.  ‘ _Ani ohevet otach.’_

She looks at you then, very softly.  ‘I love you too.’

//

you come back into the party much later, and Mattie meets you at the bottom of the fire escape with a grin.

‘You little minx,’ she laughs, looking quite proud of you.  Elle blushes, but Mattie just pulls her into a hug.  ‘You both are precious blessings,’ she tells you both.  

Elle looks immensely touched by this.  You roll your eyes, tug Elle past Mattie with a quick, ‘don’t ruin my post-sex joy ride,’ and ignore her whoop as you re-enter the party.  

‘Joy ride?’ Elle whispers in your ear with a chuckle.  You shrug.

‘I couldn’t remember the word,’ you say.

Elle tugs you back into her, wrapping her arms around your neck.  ‘My tiny elf girlfriend called me a joy ride,’ she teases.

’Shut up,’ then, ‘are you disagreeing? Was that ride not joyful?’

She scoffs, kissing your neck.  ‘I just wouldn’t have called this feeling of complete and utter happiness a ‘joy ride,’ baby.’  Pressing her hands into your tummy, she whispers, ‘it isn’t quite so fleeting.’

You smile against her cheek, say, ‘the sex has made you soft,’ laugh when she groans into your neck.

’Nevermind, asshole.  I can feel myself getting over you as we speak.’

You turn in her arms, flash her a wicked grin.  ‘Wouldn’t you rather be under me?’

Elle’s mouth drops open and you feel her twitch against your tummy.  ‘Do _not_ start, Carmilla,’ she pleads, so you laugh into her mouth and drag her back into the throng.

‘Dance with me,’ and as she spins you around on the hardwood floors you can’t help but count her heartbeats as it thrums against your cheek, present and holy.

//

mattie comes barrelling into your room at the end of August, shouting your name and looking windswept and ultimately shellshocked.

‘W-what?’ you put your book down, struggling to stand with Elle splayed out over your legs watching youtube make up tutorials.

Mattie pauses to catch her breath, a manicured hand bracing her against the door frame.  ‘That—that film you helped Lola make, I…phew, I should work out, honestly, that was like, four stairs—that film, I—I entered it into the CBC short film face off, like Lola wanted, but I also entered it into TiFF and ViFF and—holy shit, Kitten.  Holy shit.’

Elle is up and staring at Mattie with wide eyes.  ‘Surely not,’ she whispers. ‘Surely you are not saying…’

Mattie looks at you in awe and laughs, nodding.  ‘It got in.  You’re going to be on the big screen, Kitten.  To a much bigger audience than we thought.’

‘ _Sveto sranje,’_ you breathe.  Elle scrambles to call Danny, and Mattie is hugging you and laughing, and you are absolutely shocked.  ‘I’m not even sixteen yet!’ you say woefully.  Mattie laughs louder.

‘Just wait until you read what they wrote about your performance, Kitten,’ Mattie smiles proudly.  ‘You’re magnetic, Carmilla.  Simply magnetic.’

//


	3. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> indie au interlude: yall gotta start somewhere

 

‘you could drown in those eyes, i said, / so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, /   
so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.’ - _richard siken, ‘little beast.’_

_//_

TIFF is super stressful.  Like, _super_ stressful.  Lola’s film is premiering on a Thursday, and you had to get all your homework from your teachers at the beginning of the week because so far, since Mattie told you about the film festival qualifying, you have been shuttling back and forth between interviews and cast meetings and dress fittings.  And truly?  You just wanna nap with your girlfriend, but Elle is even worse than Mattie.

‘baby, we haven’t even discussed your make-up.  They say you’re magnetic we will _make_ you magnetic.’  Elle’s got that manic look in her eye that precedes a Big Idea so you try to steer her off course very fast.

‘elle, please don’t stick magnets anywhere on me, okay?’

she looks offended.  ‘why in the _hell_ would I stick magnets on you.’

‘I—you just—I mean— _Elle_ , you are such a creative mind, I’m just making—making sure you’re also, like, not…not getting…not getting weird.’

‘By putting _magnets_ on your _face_.’  She flips her hair and spins away from you with a huff.  ‘As _if_ I would put _magnets_ on your _face!_ For one, I’m not about to dick up my contouring by applying aggressive adhesive to your dumb cheeks.  Secondly, why are you like this.’

‘I’m so tired.’

She softens at that, turning away from the vanity to give you a small smile.  ‘I bet; you’ve been so busy I almost forget what you look like.’  Her arms wrap you up in a big hug and she presses her nose under your ear, and you feel your whole body relax immediately.

‘I’ll send you a selfie a day.’

‘Yeah?  On your Nokia?’

‘Shut up; if it isn’t broken I’m not about to spend a bunch of money on that weird blueberry thing you have.’

Elle laughs and you feel it against your cheek.  ‘Whatever, bitch.  Just—just think about what you want for make-up, okay?  And I will work with that.’

You nod into her chest, then, ‘can we nap now?  I’m sleeps.’

Elle hefts you up into her arms like a baby and dumps you on her bed. 

- 

mattie ends up dressing you in this soft black sleeveless dress that touches the floor and makes you look kind of like a ghost of someone that died like 300 years ago.  Elle says its because you’re so pale, but she _also_ said the ‘contrast is striking and will surely drop some jaws you slut,’ so.  Elle does your make-up—and Lola’s, and Danny’s, and Kirsch’s—and she makes you look much older and much sharper.  Your dad says you look like a regal monarch on a coin, all sharp lines and soft edges; Mattie smacks the back of his head and says ‘I thought we agreed you would stick to the list of appropriate compliments, _dad,’_ but you appreciate the sentiment.

You’d been prepped for the red carpet by Mattie and Lola, but you still weren’t prepared for how the flashing bright lights and loud shouts would shuttle you back to Kosovo.  Suddenly you’re eight again, and your papa is rubbing your back as bangs echo through your open window.  You’re frozen on the beginning of the carpet in front of a stupid background promoting the cbc with sweaty palms and your chest really hurts. You miss your papa.

You hear Mattie whisper-shouting at you, ‘come on kitten, you gotta work this carpet and you certainly _are not_ right now,’ but then Elle’s hand is at the small of your back and she is humming ‘first day of my life’ into your ear very quietly.  You start walking.

-

you hate red carpets.  And you hate watching yourself on screen.  And you hate forced social interaction.  This whole TIFF thing has been an exercise in tolerance and you cannot _wait_ to go home, but apparently you have to sit through awards now.  When Lola explained this event, she did not explain how tedious it would be.  

The film wins Short Cuts Award for Best Canadian Film.  You win Best New Actress in a Short Film.

You cannot _wait_ to go home.

-

going back to school is such a relief, because—while people are pretty jazzed about going to school with an award-winning actress—everything is totally normal.   You go back to Coraline’s classes, and you are still struggling with whatever the hell you’re learning in math, and Elle is still so lovely.  Her hormone therapy is going swimmingly, and she has a date for her top surgery—July 2010, right after graduation.  She still has another year and a half, but she says it’s good for her.

‘I _know_ I want this, you know?’ she says quietly as you’re sitting on your floor studying for finals in late November.  ‘But like, having to wait for another year is probably good, because it gives me a better point of view to be thinking about, like, you know… _full_ surgery, you know?’

You don’t know, because your body fits you, but you kiss her quietly anyway.  ‘I’m so happy for you,’ you whisper against her lips.

She kisses you back, before, ‘and like, I don’t think I want the full surgery.’  You must look confused, because she smiles a little.  ‘I mean…I _like_ my dick.  Truly, I love her.  She’s my bro.  And I know _you_ like her, so…’

You smack her arm and she laughs, wrapping her arms around your tummy.  ‘I just want you to be happy,’ you say into the gentle quiet.  She nods, and suddenly you feel wetness on your neck.  ‘Baby?’

‘I’m just so happy to know you,’ and she kisses your ear.  ‘You’re so little and cute and kind.  You’re a tiny elf with a very warm heart.’

You turn in her lap, ‘stop calling me an elf.’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘ _Ani ohevet otach,_ but you’re a bitch.’

‘Hani ochvey orlach too, love.’

You laugh so hard you snort, and Elle joins you, until you’re laughing into her mouth as she guides your hips into hers.

-

‘You’re right,’ you whisper into her collarbone, lying on your carpet and nursing some serious rug burn.

‘About what?’ she is still out of breath and you laugh before answering.

‘I _do_ like her.  A lot.’

She looks at you with that stupid smirk, the one that makes you breathless, and says ‘well, you do agree with her a lot, so.’

‘Fuck off,’ but she’s already laughing too hard at her own joke to hear you.

-

you ring in 2009 with a small party at your house.  Elle, Danny, Kirsch, Mattie, Lola, and LaFontaine are all there, in your living room drinking your dad’s nice wine and playing Cards Against Humanity while Karla, Santi, Kirsch’s mom, and your dad all go to an event at the ROM.  It’s nice, and quiet, and you are once again struck by the gentle softness of a love you forged with a family you got to make.  Elle kisses you at midnight, and you laugh into her mouth when you see Kirsch give Danny a shy kiss on the cheek and Danny huffs and drags his mouth to hers.

‘Finally!’ you hear Mattie trill, before twirling through the room to kiss everyone succinctly on the mouth.  Lola looks distinctly flustered, and LaFontaine gives Mattie a sharp glare as they chug the rest of their wine.  Mattie gets to you and blows a raspberry on your cheek, before dragging you into a wonderfully choreographed twist.

A throat clearing gets your attention, and you all look toward Lola, still flushed after Mattie’s kiss, holding her glass up in front of the fire place.  ‘If you all wouldn’t mind, I would like to say a few words,’ she says in that soft commanding voice of hers.  Mattie raises her glass and chants ‘hear hear!’ so Lola begins.

‘This time last year, I was a lost, lonely home-schooled freak trying to make it work in university.  And I never thought I would manage to find a—a family, like this, that supports me and loves me for me, instead of this vision they have of me.  So, to all of you: thank you, for loving me, for supporting me, and for allowing me to create, among such brilliant, gentle souls.  Thank you.’  She turns to Mattie, her bright blue eyes quite teary, before, ‘and Matska: thank you.  For everything; for your friendship, for your inspired trust in me, for your loud and obnoxious laugh, and for allowing me to grow while still keeping me grounded.  Without you, I’m sure I would still be that quiet strange girl in your screenwriting class writing weird Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants fanfiction on Friday nights.’

Mattie has a soft smile on her face, and instead of responding, simply raises her glass and drinks, smiling at Lola the whole time.

-

february is fucking cold.  Kirsch decides that skating in Nathan Phillips Square with you is a tradition now, so he drags you out there in mid-February.  When you get there, tripping hard on the curb getting off the streetcar, Kirsch is waiting for you with a knit toque.

‘Here, bro,’ he hands the toque to you, in all its lumpy glory.  You take it with a look, and he laughs his big belly laugh.  ’It’s for you, bud!  You’re always so cold, so I got my grandma to help me knit you a toque!’

You know it’s a hideous toque, but its such a kind gesture you get a little teary.  Kirsch notices but doesn’t say anything, instead dragging you into one of his bear hugs and kissing the top of your head.  You stay there for a while, pressing your cheek into the soft wool of his sweater.  You listen to his heartbeat.

‘ _Hvala vam_ , beefcake,’ you sniffle, so he hugs you harder.

‘No worries, little hottie.  It’s just—I know you lost that other toque, and I know you’re a stubborn bitch, so I thought I could make you one instead.’

‘I—yeah.  Yeah.  Thank you.’

He laughs, says, ‘I know you mean it when you say it in Serbian _and_ English, so again: no worries, my dude.’  He pats your head, then, ‘let’s go skate, bro.  I can see Danny tearing it up and I wanna school her with my sweet moves.’  You give him a look and he shrugs, says, ‘I’ve been watching a lot of figure skating—those dudes can _skate_ , man!’

You laugh and follow him onto the ice after allowing Kirsch to lace up your skates for you—‘it’s _tradition,_ man!’—and Elle skates up to you with a huge smile.

‘Nice toque, darling,’ she laughs, tugging on a loose thread.

‘Thanks,’ you say back quietly, blushing, so Elle stops teasing and kisses your cheek.  

’Skate with me, bitch.’

February is fucking cold, but it’s not so bad.

-

you all still attend all of Kirsch’s rugby games, but now with the added bonus of Danny writing cheesy encouraging signs to hold up every time Kirsch touches the ball.  And every time he scores a try or makes an exceptional tackle, he turns to the stands and flexes.  

-

in early may, your dad throws a party for Elle.  You don’t have to ask why; Elle has been on hormones for a whole year now, and you know better than anyone that is a cause for celebration.  He orders a comical amount of pizza, and buys a nice bottle of prosecco—‘so we can pop them bottles, kid!’ dad had said, which you had ignored—and everyone in your little mismatched family comes over dressed to the nines.  Mattie had insisted it was going to be a formal occasion, and Elle had been thrilled.

‘I _love_ dressing up.  I love it.  And,’ she wrapped her arms around your waist, bit your ear, ‘I love seeing _you_ dressed up.’

You were flustered and blushing, because Mattie was still in the room, so you looked at the ground and pushed her chest, muttered ‘shut up,’ and shook your head when Elle kissed your neck hotly and twirled away.

‘So, Matska: what are we thinking here?  Long, elegant gown paired with a dashing suit…maybe charcoal grey?  A little pop of colour in the tie?’

Mattie clapped her hands together.  ‘Fan _tas_ tic, Elle!  And maybe some dark make-up, subtle but still noticeable?  A nice winged eyeliner, some deep red lipstick to match that pop?’

You were completely lost and still very turned on, so you huffed and headed downstairs to complain to dad.

-

It turns out they were talking about _you_ , so on the day of the party you are bombarded by the two of them and forced to sit through an hour of make-up before you are shoved into a suit—which you _love_ but refuse to admit—and then handed a deep red tie and told to ‘go downstairs and get dad to help, kitten,’ being effectively banished from the room while Elle and Mattie get ready.  Dad only smiles and guides your hands when you ask him for help, kissing your forehead when you get it right.

You’re sitting on the couch with Kirsch, sipping soda water and laughing at his recounting of the figure skating he had been watching earlier when suddenly your jaw goes slack and soda water dribbles out of your mouth.

‘Dude!’ Kirsch laughs, grabbing his pocket square and dabbing at your chest, before, ‘oh…shit!  Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to like, get all up on your tits, yikes!’

You ignore him, instead handing him your drink and standing to watch Elle descend the stairs.  She meets your eyes and blushes, looking demure as she reaches the bottom.

‘Hi,’ she whispers, and it takes you a moment to respond.

‘ _Izgledaš kao san,’_ and she laughs and rolls her eyes, says ‘not again with the code,’ kisses your cheek.

You laugh and grab her hand, pulling her down to kiss you properly, _entirely_ forgetting your _dad_ is there, and Elle kisses you back for a moment before pulling away.

‘I cannot ruin your make-up already, babe.  Mattie and I worked hard to create this.’  You nod, and she leans down to whisper, ‘I can fuck it up later, I promise.  I think my lipstick would look so hot smeared on the inside of your thighs,’ so you smack her chest and go sit next to Kirsch.

‘Elle’s a bitch,’ you tell him, but he has spotted Danny, dressed in a lovely dark blue dress, and he’s talking himself up to go say hi.  ‘Kirsch,’ you tap his shoulder.  ‘She’s your girlfriend.  You don’t have to practise what you’re gonna say anymore.’

He turns to you with wide eyes.  ‘I do when she looks like _that!_ She’s so pretty!  Oh my god!!’

You laugh, tell him, ‘dude, if you think I can ever keep my cool in front of Elle, _ever_ , you are sorely mistaken.  I don’t think we ever get used to how hot our girlfriends are.’

‘I know!  Oh my god!  Oh my god _look_ at her! She’s such a strong, beautiful young woman!’

You kiss his cheek and stand up.  ‘Want me to go first, give you an in?’ He looks at you with wide, thankful eyes.  ‘Yes please,’ he says meekly, so you pat his head and walk over to Danny.

-

Your dad lets Elle pop the prosecco, on the rooftop.  It sprays everywhere and Elle laughs, says, ‘thank god I insisted on that setting spray,’ pours everyone a glass.  Lola had come by about an hour into the party, dressed in a strange grey and red dress that had made Mattie very soft around the eyes, and had brought another bottle of prosecco.  Mattie insisted on popping that one herself.

‘If only this was the first christening this roof had had,’ she says wistfully, and you choke on your prosecco when your dad looks confused and Elle squeezes your ass.

-

later, when you all are still on the roof, Karla starts crying while trying to make a speech, so Santi has to say it for her.  Grabbing the crumpled paper from her hand, Santi clears his throat and promptly starts crying too, so Kirsch takes the speech, squints at the blurry writing, and tosses it off the roof.

‘Imma wing it,’ he tells you all, ‘but I’m pretty sure I know the gist.’  You laugh, and he sends you his goofy smile.  ‘I’m not very good with words, but I can try?  So.  Here goes.’  

‘YEEEAH KIRSCH! SLAM DUNK!’ Danny shouts with a fist pump.  

Kirsch blushes and shuffles his feet, mutters a ‘thanks, Dan,’ before, ’Elle: you’re my bro.  You’ve always been my bro.  And I’m so happy for you, that you get to grow and become who you have always known you were, and that you’ve always known you could be.’  He pauses to take a shaky breath.  ‘Dude.  You are the dopest, most courageous person I know—no offence mom—and you are so strong and brave and lovely, and I know you’re gonna change the world for the better.  Just—just like you’ve changed me.  So, like—thanks, bro.  And congrats on the lady chemicals; you look so hot.’

You can’t stop laughing, but you’re also crying, and Elle gives Kirsch the sloppiest, wettest high five ever because _she_ is crying, too, and your dad is hugging you, and you feel so full.

-

summer ends way too fast.  You and Elle had continued to work with Coraline on plays all summer, and you had made some really cool friends in the theatre scene because of it.  You and Danny worked on a play that premiered in the Fringe Theatre Festival, and you got to meet people from all over Canada that loved theatre as much as you did.  There was this one girl, Laura or something from Vancouver, that was _incredible_ in this weird play about a girl on a train that made up little stories about all the people she rode with, and each story was acted out, and each time this girl inserted herself into their story in increasingly desperate ways until finally it ends and the girl just like quietly gets off the train.  It was hard to follow at times, but you _loved_ it, and so did Lola.  She wouldn’t stop talking about it.

Lola and Mattie go back to university in late August, and you and dad take them to the airport again.  Mattie hugs you at security before they both walk through, and you and dad stay long enough to see Mattie take Lola’s hand.

Your dad gives you a high five, says, ‘I _knew_ it!’ and takes you for ice cream in Roncesvalle again.

-

grade twelve is stressful, but also you are so close to being done that it almost doesn’t matter.  Elle is getting so, _so_ excited about her top surgery, and you both are applying to schools.  You try to coordinate so you can end up together, but Elle is also very interested in some American schools, as well as a school all the way in BC.  You’ve been sticking to mostly local: Dalhousie, U of T, Concordia, McGill—but Elle is Thinking Big.

‘I’m going to be starting my life as Elle, truly, after this surgery.  I’m going to finally _be me._ I want to explore; I want to know what’s out there!’ she tells you as you sit in the snow fort you and Kirsch had built a few days earlier.

You nod, but you also do not want to nod, because you love her but you want her close to you all the time.  But you know she’s right: her and Kirsch had started this really cool blog that’s, in Elle’s words, a ‘subversion of the toxic masculinity prevalent in our western culture,’ and it has been getting _really_ popular.  She dresses Kirsch up in traditionally feminine clothing, does his make-up, and puts him in demure poses.  It was featured in the Huffington Post, which Mattie was excited about, and in Vice, which you were excited about.

She’s got so much potential, and you don’t want to stop her from reaching that, but also?  You’re gonna miss the fuck out of her.

-

college applications are dumb.

-

new years 2010 is much drunker than past new years, because you’re all ‘old enough to make your own decisions, but dumb enough to make the bad ones anyway, and I would rather you make them in a safe environment,’ as dad had said.  So you all wake up wildly hungover, and Danny and Kirsch had _clearly_ had sex on your dad’s leather couch, and Lola vomited in the sink in the morning.  

You thought you got away scott-free, but Mattie keeps giving you sly looks all morning, so you are worried.  You go to the bathroom around one for a shower and are absolutely appalled to see Elle has taken the liberty of leaving a massive hickey on your collarbone, and later, as you’re all eating pho on your living room floor, Danny clears her throat and says, ‘so what were you two talking about last night?  Carmilla, you _really_ seemed to agree with whatever Elle was saying.’

Elle chokes on her pho she’s laughing so hard.  You just mutter, ‘ _jebite se svi vi,’_ and dump sriracha into Danny’s pho.

-

once again, you, Danny, Kirsch, and Elle go skating at Nathan Phillips in mid-february.  You wear the lumpy toque Kirsch made you, and—since you are _leagues_ better than you were that first time—Kirsch has elected you as his figure skating partner.  He says it’s because you ‘weigh less that a full-grown labrador.’  

You don’t argue, because 1) he’s right, you’re little, and 2) you love him and you like making him smile, and an added bonus is it makes Elle laugh.

Elle buys you hot chocolate after, and you are suddenly reminded of that first time, when you couldn’t speak for the recognition you saw in her even then, so when she hands you your hot chocolate you kiss her wrist and you say ‘ _volim vas,’_ and she gets soft and she says _‘Ani ohevet otach,_ Carm.’

you don’t say anything after that.

-

elle hears back from colleges in early spring.  She comes twirling into Coraline’s with a huge smile, keeps batting her eyelashes and acting coy when people ask her what’s got her in such a good mood.

‘Oh, nothing, the world is just so lovely, isn’t it?’ and ‘It’s so nice to be secure in your future.’

You wait till class is over to ask her what’s going on.  It’s just you, Elle, and Coraline, and Elle hums before reaching into her shoulder bag and pulling out an envelope with a dramatic flourish.

‘Oh, this?’ she says, fanning herself with the torn envelope.  ‘Oh, nothing, just _my acceptance letter, bitches!’_

You feel your chest clench, because you and Elle applied to quite a few of the same schools, and you had gotten your acceptance to Dalhousie a week ago, but that envelope looks nothing like yours did.

‘To—to where, _neshama_?’ you ask quietly.  Coraline puts her hand on your knee.

Elle smiles at both of you, blinding and so, so happy.  ‘Barnard.’

You’re happy for her, you are, but.  Barnard is in New York.  Coraline’s hand squeezes your knee.

‘Congratulations, Elle!’ she sings, letting go of you to wrap Elle up in a hug.  Elle is laughing, twirling and looking so happy, so you stand up shakily and join their hug.

You can deal with the 1,800 kilometres later.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry this took 70 years i just rly dont wanna write act iii ha ha :)


End file.
